


Hold You One More Time

by seagreenwaves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, flowerpot discord drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seagreenwaves/pseuds/seagreenwaves
Summary: “You were beautiful, loving and divine. Forgetting our past has become such a burden. All I wanted was to hold you one more time.”
Relationships: Fleur Delacour & Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Flowerpot Garden Collection One





	Hold You One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Massive thanks to NerdDragonVoid, Abel Lecoq, x102reddragon and HonorverseFan for helping beta this fic from the Harry/Fleur Discord Server. This server’s been such a blessing. 
> 
> This is my first work for a server collection. Obviously, I’m far off from the best but that’s okay. I’ve enjoyed writing and I hope to get better every day. I’m overly excited to be part of a growing community and I hope I can continue dishing out stories.
> 
> To chat with us or to join the flowerpot community, here is the discord server link: http://bit.ly/FlowerpotDiscord or check out the link on my profile.
> 
> This is part of a series of drabbles/stories/one-shots by the Harry/Fleur Collab Gang! Check out their stories whenever you have the time as they are massive and amazing. Different kinds of stories for different kinds of folks!

“He’s here,” Fleur Delacour nodded without looking up. Her 8 am meeting was here.

 _Early._ She thought as she summoned her proposal plans from their respective cabinets. The earliest appointment she had scheduled for today was the toughest to secure. It was of the highest priority to her department. She only needed to close the deal. Britain and France combined had more than 100 Aurors at their disposal. 

And yet, they _still_ needed this. Rumors of his abilities were more than rumors. Leaves no trace, works alone and has a strong code of honor. The last one being the strangest for a person in this line of work.

She heard a small knock through her door. “Come in,” she said as she walked out of her desk into the middle of her room ready to greet her guest.

“’Arry?”

The boy, no -- man that came through was none other than her co-champion back in her final academic school year. The Triwizard Champion. The Boy-Who-Lived. The last she had seen of the man that stood in front of her was a little over 8 years ago. 

She was pleasantly surprised. She had not heard from the war hero in years despite the numerous clippings she had of him courtesy of her younger sister. Though none of it were recent activities, she had wondered every now and then whatever happened to the famous wizard. A _friend_ , she would debate.

“Names are not important, Miss Delacour.” He said with no hint of recognition in his face. His emerald eyes held no hint of fire or warmth. It was his defining feature for her. Not his scar. His eyes. His mother’s eyes, or so she had been told.

She pointed to her coat hanger, and with intensity, Fleur observed him.

He wore a dark grey coat with a crisp white shirt. His face looked battle – worn but with no obvious signs of scarring. His hands were hidden by the gloves that he wore. It matched his outfit. His hair was still unkempt, but shorter except in the middle where his hair grew to cover almost his entire forehead to his eyes. He was also a lot taller, at least a few inches taller than she was. A lot of physical changes obviously came with age, but still, it was not enough to explain why she felt it was a different man despite immediately recognizing him.

She did not expect Harry to walk through her doors. She had expected a ruthless man. Someone different. Someone rough. Someone _not_ Harry and indeed, here he was. A seemingly callous and indifferent man. He did not even bother to greet her.

“I suppose you have your proposal in hand?” he immediately said. _It’s just business,_ she thought.

“Yes, of course. Please take a seat,” she said retracting her thoughts from their direction. _You’re here to close a deal._ “Coffee? Tea?” she added as Harry just waved his hand away.

She had slipped the proposal to his direction. Harry reached for it and began reading it in silence.

“50 rejects.” He finally said. “You have rejected 50. Why?”

“They could not prove their loyalty,”

“Your gold is their loyalty.” He mused, his voice dry.

“And yours?” she asked, laying down her cup, steam still rising from it. “I know how mercenaries work, ‘Arry” she stated as a matter of fact. 

“It means nothing.” He answered simply.

Fleur did not know if he was referring to the gold or the name, she called him by, somehow, she felt it was the latter. His eyes poured over the documents she handed to him.

“What makes you think I will be any different?” He added still perusing the parchments in his hand.

“I should’ve known that it would be you. _Of course,_ who else would have a code of honor.” She said in a mocking voice. As if to point out the obvious. Whichever it was.

He did not bother looking up. Silence enveloped the space that they occupied. For a moment, Fleur simply looked at the man, puzzled. She tried her best to remember the light in his eyes. It was lost, blurred in a memory. 

She wanted it to be different. She wanted to meet a different man. Not this. Not _now._

 _We need this._ She reiterated to herself as her thoughts were derailing. This was her job, her only objective. Difficult times lay ahead of them and Harry had become more than a war hero. He was a veteran. He may have preferred the shadows but his identity, the power and fear he struck into those that threaten the magical world remained. Though she could argue that the fear he struck now was less about the scar on his forehead and the legacy of his feat against Lord Voldemort but more about the years following that. He had single handedly stopped the cancer that the Dark Lord spread. He continued fighting even after the war was over. She never had to think about it, until now.

_How far away is he from his humanity?_

“Is that all?” He said. He had reached the conclusion of the proposal. He made no other remarks. For the first time in over a decade, Fleur was uncomfortable with silence. 

Fleur pursed her lips. ‘Arry. Whoever was this man… _non_ , this stranger was getting on her nerves. She wanted to snap at his rudeness.

“Non. There will be Aurors.”

“I work alone.” He quipped almost immediately. She felt the conversation going nowhere. _This is a poor showing of my abilities_ , she rebuked to herself. Frustration once again flooded her mind.

“I am aware. _There will be Aurors_.” She reiterated, unintentionally releasing her _Allure_. She had wanted to convince him. However unfair it might be. Perhaps a little nudge wouldn’t hurt. 

He raised his head, finally giving her his full attention. He looked at her straight in the eyes, his once bright emerald, jaded and washed, she observed.

“There will be Aurors.” He repeated in a mindless tone.

 _Good_ , she thought. She did her best to suppress her satisfaction. She knew he was almost immune to it. But perhaps today was not one of those days.

“ _Your_ Aurors will be useless,” he stated, earning Fleur’s ire and further annoyance. Fleur did her best to prevent herself from scowling.

“They will get in the way.”

“I assure you; they are the best.” She defended as she stood, palms strongly against her table.

“You still haven’t convinced me as to why you need me. I was under the impression that your department’s pursuit of my services was serious.”

Fleur sighed. Everything was clear to her now. Why it needed to be him.

“It is. Marcus. He will need to be contained. The British Aurors and more than a handful of ours can secure the perimeter and the safety of the local attendees and the foreign diplomats.”

She stood and walked to her window, “But _our_ Ministry remains unconvinced. There has been an attack on one of _the_ diplomats.”

Marcus, the leader of a strong organization, has been the culprit, their intel told. The movement Marcus led has been quite peculiar as he led from the shadows. Killing, deceiving and rallying, all without a face, their only clue was the name. Whenever he struck, they were always too late. 

Harry’s lips formed a smirk. An odd and dangerous one. She had never seen his face in such form. His features were always soft despite having grown considerably in between their first meeting and their eventual meeting.

Still, Fleur could not read what was on his mind.

“Tell me who the diplomat is.” 

“That is classified.”

“Then I’m afraid we cannot reach an agreement.” He rose immediately and went for his coat. His movement was too fast.

“Wait, wait. ‘Arry. Just wait.” She can hear the frustration in her voice. A drop of irritation. 

No one makes Fleur beg. 

Harry stopped at the door handle for a moment and spoke in a low voice. “There is no Harry. Good day, Miss Delacour.” he said without turning. 

Fleur was exasperated. _Merde._ She didn’t know whether she wanted to hex Harry or herself. Perhaps more so Harry. _Who in the world was that?_

Her secretary entered her room immediately following Harry’s abrupt departure. “Madame…” she started, her face visibly pale. 

“Do you know who that _man_ was Louise?” she said with much contempt. “Non, don’t answer.” she continued. She didn’t need to hear anything more about Harry. Or again, _whoever_ that was. Clearly not the man, no, boy she met in the tournament. 

“Madame...the Minister called…” she began again as Fleur paced, clearly annoyed and frustrated. 

“I will deal with him. Schedule a floo. Now.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ _Fleur! How was our esteemed guest_?” The minister greeted with gusto as she came through the fireplace. Fleur slumped on the Minister’s couch. 

“ _You forgot to tell me that it was the Boy-Who-Lived_.” 

“ _Well, he isn’t really much of a boy now is he_...”, the Minister started while pouring tea in his cup. 

“Papa.” Fleur said as she shot him a dangerous look. 

“ _Alright, alright. So I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. Miss Granger did not want to tell anyone_.” 

“ _But why? Is it because he was so different_?”

“Oui.” 

Fleur waited for her father’s judgement. Her father, Victor Delacour had been the Minister of the French Ministry for the last 5 years. She had always looked up to her father for his sound conclusions and excellent analysis of situations. “ _We must trust Miss Granger’s read on him_.” 

“ _I don’t understand. What happened to him?_ ” She knew the answer. Or a quarter of the answer. Despite only seeing him the year of her engagement with the eldest of the Weasleys, she had come to admire him. His presence in her life was perhaps just a moment for him but it was a turning point to her.

Ultimately, he was in their short time together, preparing for war, while she was focused on getting married. 

Her father left with no answer. This was beyond his knowledge and beyond what he could predict. 

He had simply encouraged Fleur to attempt communicating with Harry. It was hard enough to communicate with him in the same room. Fleur could not think of any reason she would find better luck communicating with him elsewhere.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fleur entered the building of her apartment later than usual. Carrying a takeout from a Vietnamese place two blocks away, and some groceries, she quietly went her way up. 

“Dear? A charming young man came looking for you.” Her landlady was waiting for her. She was a nice elderly woman. Called her Mrs. Bernard. Fleur sighed loudly and let out a small laugh. Men always came for her even at her apartment.

She couldn’t blame them. But how she wished, her landlady did not have to act as a gatekeeper. She was lucky she didn’t mind. Her mother had warned her that her powers would not wane with time. It would only grow stronger as it sought for a lifelong bond. Whatever that is. After countless failed relationships, she had given up on the thought of _amour_. It was a fantasy. Her mother, a part of that fantasy. _She_ had a fairytale ending. Her only wish was that Gabrielle would come to be loved as she had wanted. 

“Mrs. Bernard, there’s always a young man.” she reminded her. 

The old woman, Mrs. Bernard, was a blind squib. Nevertheless, she never was filled with bitterness. She was always warm and cheerful. Something that Fleur loved in the apartment apart from its location and the garden the old woman let her have at the roof. Mrs. Bernard had ordered her to seal off the entrance to avoid disturbances from Muggles and even magical folks. Its existence was privy to herself and Mrs. Bernard. 

The old woman gave a cheeky smile as Fleur handed off food for the landlady. “Pho?” she inquired.

“Mhmm.” She was quite happy with herself. This had become her routine.

“I love Pho. Thank you kindly, Fleur. You know you don’t have to get me anything always.” 

“I know that.” The old lady began making her way back to her apartment. “Fleur? The charming man. He’s on the roof.” She mentioned, as if she forgot that important detail.

Fleur stopped, a wizard then. “Did he say his name?”

Fleur swore she can hear the old woman laugh. “No, but he sounds lovely.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Bernard.”

Fleur sighed. _Of course, they’re charming._ There was no point to meeting the man, however. Whoever it was, probably came from work. She had numerous suitors still. 

She had no idea why Mrs. Bernard allowed the man to go to the garden. The place was too intimate. This was a first. Even if her curiosity was piqued, she eventually shook her head and decided to let it go.

 _Perhaps he has been here for hours and Mrs. Bernard didn’t want to keep him at her apartment._ That sounded like the most plausible excuse. 

After two relationships, the longest one with Bill Weasley during the duration of the war as they had met from his visits in France that coincided with her apprenticeship, and the other, the most recent one, Joaquin from work, she simply stopped allowing men into her life. She wasn’t cynical, no. Everything just lacked passion.

She had decided if she was going to allow herself to commit. It had to consume her, or she would accept nothing less.

She entered her apartment and was greeted by her cat immediately.

 _Purr_.

She reached for her cat and slowly made her way to her couch. What a long day. She must have sent a million owls to Harry, hoping that he would correspond at the very least. 

She had been so good at keeping things just business. Had she done the same here, Harry Potter would’ve been under her employment and only she would be the wiser. Instead, she had been a fool. She had chased his innocence. He must have hated her for it. 

She did not notice the time as her eyes fluttered to sleep. _Dinner can wait_. As her mind fell into slumber. 

She woke up sometime past midnight, with the moonlight still shining from her window. _It must be very early_ , she thought. 

As she lay her cat to sleep on her couch, she changed into her nightgown and decided to take her food to the rooftop. _My sanctuary._ She had almost forgotten that just a few hours ago, a man was there. She hoped he had not touched anything nor destroyed any of her precious flowers. 

_Pop_. 

She instantly breathed the fresh air. The cold wind sunk to her skin. She could stay here forever. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and smiled. This was her sanctuary, her paradise. 

“You always make your guests wait?” Fleur almost lost her balance. The voice gave her a fright. She immediately reached for her wand in a quick flash, turned around to nothing. 

_Homenum revelio_ , she thought. There was no effect. Was her mind playing games? Was she too tired, too perturbed to function?

“Show yourself!” she commanded with grace. She feared nothing.

This was no time to play games. She had been disturbed at her sanctuary. If this was the _charming_ man, as Mrs. Bernard referred to him, then he would be in big trouble. Not only did he scare her, he had time to play games at this hour.

A man appeared on her bench. The most unexpected man. She could seriously kill him right now. She stalked over, stood in front of him with her arms crossed, “Well?”

He only offered a smile. A very tired one. But a smile, nonetheless. 

“You are hateful!” she remarked punching his arms and slapping his head.

“Ouch, ouch ouch, wait, stop stop, okay okay...I get it” he stood, grabbed her hands just as she was starting to pound at his chest. 

“Hateful!” she said as he held her dangerously close. Her eyes met his as she squinted at his scandalous act. Nevertheless, he continued his firm grip at her hands and his eyes continued to rest on hers.

He sighed and slowly released her hand and sat down on the bench found in the middle of the garden.

“I just came by to apologize.” he began, as he ran his hands through his messy hair and tapped the bench in agitation. 

“I know I was an arse…”

“Yes, yes you were.” Fleur retorted, taking a seat far away from him, hands still crossed. 

She needed his service still. She didn’t know why he was here and why he had waited for her but her pride was all too much, even if the opportunity was here and there. She needed to soften him up and to do that, well, she has to make him believe she was not his friend anymore. 

“Why are you here?” she inquired. 

From the corners of her eyes, she saw him assume a relaxed position. “Heard you had a nice garden.” That was his excuse. Or at least she thought it was. 

Fleur scoffed at this. “Really, ‘Arry? Well then I should leave you and MY garden alone then non?”

Her garden shone in the moonlight. It was a peaceful sight and a part of her could understand why anyone would want to be in its presence. She had labored for weeks, months on every chance she could get to have each seed grow into the flower they were now. She HAD a beautiful garden and he was the first to witness it. 

Harry simply gave her a shrug. All her rational thoughts were leaving her head. If she were true to her heritage, she would have been throwing fireballs at him now. 

“Why are you here?” This time it was a statement. She wanted to enjoy the serenade of the moon but her annoyance at her visitor and his unpredictable behavior all in one day was too much for her. She needed an answer. A word, a sentence that explained what he needed from her. 

He had rejected her. Them. And yet here he was, in her garden. Breathing the fruit of her labor. Half smiling even. _Has he gone mad?_

He started to run his hands through his hair again. “I’ve been running for quite some time, Miss Delacour. I just.... I just need to breathe.” Fleur frowned. She had no time for his cryptics.

“There are so many places to breathe from.” 

Harry smirked and laughed at this. She pondered a little on this. Perhaps he is still in there, somewhere. Not that it was her duty to save him. 

“No, you’re right. You deserve an apology and an explanation.” he offered, “But I can only offer one of the two.”

“And I’m guessing the one you offer is your apology.” She looked at him as if her eyes could set him in flames.

“My service is also on the table.” He added, emulating his tone from their earlier encounter. It felt like a soldier. As if he had been programmed to say it all along. 

His offer was tempting but she couldn’t just yield after the ruckus he had caused earlier. _Non_. _I will redeem myself._ She decided to gamble. She needed information from the man. It was high stakes. He could simply lose interest and she would not only lose the chance to get him as the key to their diplomat’s security but she would also lose the chance to rekindle their once blooming friendship.

He did not know of it but his raw talent, strength and absolute loyalty were qualities that Fleur had come to admire. But it was his determination to protect everyone, and the passion that burned in his eyes led Fleur to her own decision back then, weeks before her wedding.

_She was not in love with Bill Weasley._

She shifted her gaze at him. While he looked ahead, he began to look like his old self. For a moment. She realized she had never been in love because she yearned to have just an inkling of the fire that burned through Harry’s eyes. That was the kind of love she needed.

Though it had dampened over the years, and she had thought it gone during their first meeting again, she could still see it now. Behind the thin sheet of ice that seemed to have taken residence in his eyes.

After what seemed like eons of them just breathing, she finally spoke. “You’re hiding something, ‘ _Arry_.” An emphasis on his name. She wondered if his name would cause a change in him or if earlier was all but an act.

She saw his lips form a small smile. “Truth be told, I haven’t been Harry in a long time.” He immediately said. Her curiosity burned through her veins. There was so little she could get from him. For every answer he spoke, it opened a new hole that she wanted to fill.

“Don’t be dramatic, ‘Arry. It’s only been eight years,” she mentioned as a matter of fact. “I’m sure the world still remembers you, so don’t think for a second you’ve escaped your stardom.”

He laughed. Softly. He craned his head to smile at her. “Ah. And here I thought I was the next _Nicholas Flamel._ ”

“If you want to be Nicholas Flamel you’d need Perenelle.” She quipped.

His eyes suddenly wore a sadder hue. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” He said even more softly.

“Why are you here, ‘Arry?” she asked for a third time. She thought maybe the third time will do the charm. “Surely you did not come all this way to _charm_ my landlady into thinking you’re the most wonderful man she has ever met, wait for a woman who most likely hates your guts just to tell me you want to be Nicholas Flamel.”

“And what if it’s true? Will you take me for a mad man?”

“No I’ll take you for a wasted man.” She said, taking a pause and waving her wand to produce a goblet with pumpkin juice. “Especially if you think Nicholas would’ve made it through all those years without Perenelle.”

Fleur saw Harry’s eyebrows frown in confusion. She rolled her eyes. Maybe this is the Harry I know, she thought as a question formed in her head. “Have you ever been in love, ‘Arry?” she blurted, unable to stop herself.

Harry’s tapping stopped. “Once,” was all he offered.

“Ginny?” she inquired, eager at the turn their night had made. She was aware of their relationship back then as she had walked in on them sharing a kiss at the Burrow, the morning before Harry disappeared at the start of the war.

“No.” His answer offered no interpretation as Fleur observed his expression go back to being somber.

“I’m here for you, Fleur.” He followed with no warnings. Fleur’s breathing stopped. She almost wished that he had meant it. That she was the one that he had loved.

“What do you mean?” she inquired nonchalantly, careful with her tone.

“Your minister. I owe him something. He says my debt can be repaid if I commit myself to your service. You wish for my service for the funeral, I will be there.”

“You mean my father? You owe my father? I cannot believe this. _I can’t believe he set me up to deal with you when he could’ve done it himself.”_ She said with the latter part of her sentence turning into French in her frustration.

She wanted to humiliate them both. Or curse them. Most especially her papa. What a thought, she said as she let out a loud air of frustration, disbelief.

“And what if I decline?”

“Then I believe you are still welcome to use my service elsewhere.”

“So, I get one wish?” she said as she flashed an uncanny smile, and her allure at Harry, with a light attempt in unsettling the man.

“S-service, Delacour, service.” He said as he cleared his throat in between. _Delacour – 1, Potter – 0_ , she thought.

“And what if you can’t finish the service?”

“I’ve never not finished a contract, Fleur.”

Fleur closed her eyes. “I know, ‘Arry. I’ve heard that much about you. But I don’t want the proposed services.” She said, forming an idea in her head.

“What do you want? Your diplomats will be safe.” She heard him declare. Even if his voice was monotonous, he could hear the frustration starting to envelop his voice. _He isn’t as hard as he’d like to project he is._

“I know.”

“So that’s it then? Your diplomats will be safe.” He reiterated. He was showing his hand too much, Fleur concluded. He simply wanted to get rid of the favor he owed and get on with life.

“ _Non._ ” she simply declared.

“No?”

“ _Non._ ”

“Then what, Fleur?” she heard him, his voice raised, laced with the need to learn the answer right away.

“Impatient, are we? Aren’t we too eager?”

She saw him lose tension. “Right, right. You’re right.”

“I’d like you to protect me. From Marcus.”

“For the funeral?”

“Non, until Marcus is brought in the ICW.” She was ambitious. She wanted to bring down the notorious entity and she wanted Harry to do it. Harry, the once famous war hero turned infamous mercenary. 

His eyes grew wide for a split second. “That could take more than a year.” He said, seemingly protesting. 

“Were you not doing the same thing?”

“Yes but….”

“So you don’t want to protect me?”

“I hardly think you need any protecting.” he said with a patronizing smile. _You’re walking a thin line, Harry_ , she thought at this.

“You’re right. I don’t. But I wish to employ your services anyways.”

Harry made to stand and joined her at the balcony. The sun was beginning to rise and the warmth began to creep through her skin. It felt good in contrast with the chill she began to feel a few moments earlier. Harry moved closer to her, keeping his face close to hers.

“I’ll..um..accept that. But you have to promise me, you’ll never...fall in love with me.” 

She scoffed as he smiled and disappeared in a crack leaving a paper and a key behind. 

=======================================================================

London was nearly engulfed in flames. Smoke crept every corner preventing accurate visibility. Muggles will say it’s a terrorist attack. In a way it is. _That’s the way I will contain it anyway_ , Harry thought as he made sure his spells would last the hour. 

Harry had finished mass evacuating most of the diplomats underground with the exception of the ministers, all of which had their own vanguard. As far as he could tell, no one else was in danger.

_Except for one._

He needed to find Fleur now. That was his task. She had previously instructed him to evacuate everyone before coming to her to which he almost protested. He did not want to leave her.

He breathed in and cast a spell to track Fleur, his perspiration falling

 _“Appare Vestigium,”_ he thought as he pointed at the barren street. A golden streak appeared that smelled distinctly like Fleur, or so he imagined as he followed the trail immediately. Running as fast as he could, the trail soon came at an abrupt stop.

“Fleur!” he shouted at the street. “Fleur!” The wind immediately swept over him, making the visibility even worse. He tried to contain whatever force it was that was preventing him from moving forward.

He apparated in one of the buildings. He needed a vantage point. Where could the French woman be? He _needed_ to find her. He apparated in another building. Empty. He couldn’t feel or track any magic that was familiar. Everything felt obscured even with fire still running through all of London. 

_Higher, I need to get higher,_ he thought. Upon reaching the hand of Big Ben. He felt it. Her. _Fleur_. Faint as it was, he felt it.

 _Pop_. He appeared in the street running immediately to her body. Her clothes were singed, as if she had fought with flames. “Fleur. Are you alright? I’m sorry, I should’ve been here.”

“ _Non_ , I told you. Keep everyone safe.”

Harry scowled. “That’s not my responsibility.”

“I know but you owe it to me.” He nodded, breathing heavily. “He’s here. He can’t escape London, that's why it’s on fire.”

“You’ve trapped him?” Fleur inquired with a look that was either in awe or incredulous. He didn’t have time to explain or dive in with how he did it. “Do I want to know how you achieved that alone?”

“Yeah – no you probably don’t want to know. But he is trying his best to destroy it. Foul magic everywhere.” He noted. He was cloaking his magic. That Harry was sure of.

“What happened to you?” he inquired seeing her leg blemished with blood. 

“Don’t worry about me I’m fine.”

“Who got you?” He began casting a series of healing charms that healed her to full. His expertise in the art of healing spells had grown considerably, seeing as he had no one to rely on during his years alone but himself.

“I…. I’m not sure. I just woke up here…a few minutes ago.” She recounted, seemingly unable to make sense of the situation.

“Can you get up now?” She nodded but he saw her wince as he helped her to stand up.

_She must’ve been blasted._

The wind blew harshly once again causing Fleur to hold on to Harry’s arm.

“He’s here.” He announced squinting at the empty streets. No signs of the living or any creatures. Fleur took her stance as a red light reached them. If not for Harry’s reflexes they would’ve been both injured. He immediately held Fleur and apparated away from it, landing a few feet away as another spell aimed for them both was shot and this time, he deflected it with a blasting curse.

“You’re not safe here.” He said as he held out a key from his pockets.

“I’m sorry Fleur.” He said as he smiled and kissed her forehead and placed the key on her hand as he cast the spell. “I promised you’d be safe.” 

He could hear Fleur’s shout faintly as she was sucked into the vortex.

======================================================================

Fleur’s eyes flew open. It was as if she was stuck in a bad dream. A terrible dream. She noticed her eyes were damp as if she had been crying all night.

 _Strange_ , she thought as tears fell from her eyes once again.

The sun was nearly up, she observed from her windows. She managed to rise from her bed and change into more suitable robes. Her body felt sore as if she’d been in bed for days.

She looked at her figure in the mirror. She saw several wounds, most of which were healing. She traced them all, unable to make sense of the situation. For each stroke on her body she felt uneasy, as if she was missing an important detail. Feeling weak, she slipped to the floor, hands on her head.

“Fleur,” she heard someone speak from her door. Unable to look up and still in tears she kept her hands on her temples attempting to remember.

She felt her mother’s arms rush around her. “ _Fleur, my sweet are you okay? How long have you been awake_?”

“ _I’m…not so sure maman. Just a few minutes_.” She mentioned, confusion clear on her face.

“Rest, my sweet. You need it.” She insisted as she helped Fleur to bed once again. Her eyes met her mothers. She could not understand the expression on her face. Nothing made sense.

“ _How…how long have I been asleep_?” she finally inquired, afraid of the answer. She had no idea what to think or anything. Nothing and everything was in her head. It felt as if her mind was too exhausted to move forward. Like it was carrying a heavy burden she could not pinpoint.

Her mother looked at her and smiled in a sad manner, as if she had been waiting for her for the longest time. As if she had been hurting. “ _It’s been two weeks, my flower_ ,” she said as she tucked Fleur’s hair.

 _Two weeks gone_. Two weeks. She tried to remember something, anything before that but for the life of her, she couldn’t.

Her mother reached for the cup that was prepared near her bed. “ _Drink, then we can talk_.”

The minute her lips touched her cup, she felt relaxed. At peace. Her mind fell into a relaxed state. She must have been dreaming because the next thing she saw was her garden, except all the flowers bloomed.

She saw herself laughing, basking in the afternoon sun. _I must be drunk_ , she thought as she felt her cheeks going red at the sound of her laughter. She could see a man sitting across her, but she could not make out his face. Whoever it was, he must’ve been a good friend.

 _If these were my dreams, why would I be in tears?_ She thought, struggling to remember if these are memories or simply dreams.

The scene changed and she was back in her office.

 _A familiar setting_ , she thought.

She saw herself sitting down on her desk, writing with a smile that she had not seen herself wear. She saw herself look at the snowy owl that was perched on her window in an endearing manner. It was oddly familiar, like she had seen the owl somewhere before. Somewhere beyond these dreams. She walked towards herself, curious to see what she was writing about only for the setting to disappear once again.

She found herself awake, this time dreary and tired but again in tears. Her dreams were happy, full of color and life and yet here she was shedding tears.

Her room was dark as if the day had passed. She wondered if she should sleep once again and risk seeing the dreams that held so much mystery or ask the questions herself to her mother who seemed to hold all the answers. Or perhaps not.

She slowly rose from her bed as she realized her body still felt very weak. Her head gave a dull pain as she managed to make her way outside her room and into the hallway.

“ _She has no idea?”_ she heard a voice that she recognized as her father say in a hushed tone. She quickly hid herself in the shadows as she edged herself closer to the stairway.

 _“No, I believe she has been hit by a memory altering charm,”_ her mother replied, her voice laced with curiosity and worry. Her heart felt heavy hearing her mother this way. She never wanted to give her a fright.

 _“But why…”_ her father trailed “ _I understand she had been weakened during the evacuation but I know for a **fact** she had the best company.” _He continued, seemingly unable to make sense of her situation.

 _What did happen to her?_ Her mind began a series of flashbacks that led to the evacuation but she remembers no company. She remembered almost being scorched but had no recollection of the actual evacuation or how she ended up back in France. Her memory was hazy, as if it was locked under a spell and it made her feel uneasy and nauseous.

“ _Are you sure, Apolline?”_ her father spoke again abruptly, “ _my flower is drained to the core fro –”_

_“It is more than the spell my love. She is suffering. Her magic is trying to recall what it had lost.”_

_“What it had lost…no…it can’t be,”_

Fleur made her way to their drawing room, unable to listen anymore. Their voices were soon drowned out as she took heavy and pained steps. Her physical body was not sore and yet she felt downtrodden, carrying the whole world and nothing as it was.

She heard melodious tunes coming from the drawing room. Familiar notes from her childhood. The lullaby her grandmother would always sing, in their parents' absence. She had often sung that in her childhood. Upon reaching womanhood, she had stopped singing it with her grandmother. She had almost forgotten the tune but somehow, today, she remembered it as it was before. As if she had been singing it her whole life.

Warmth filled her insides as her steps increased gradually in speed. Upon reaching the drawing room, she was met with, well, nothingness. Everything was where it should be. Things had not been moved. Gabrielle rarely made her way to the drawing room. It was only she that frequented the room, filling it with her tunes on her happy days, and paintings on her lonesome ones.

She sat in the corner, unable to fathom what was happening, what was lost or forgotten within her. Unable to properly process the feeling of both emptiness and heaviness.

A monologue formed inside her head all of which consists of thoughts on craziness. The light inside herself has been extinguished and the switch no longer within her reach.

Almost six weeks had passed since Fleur woke. The conversation with her family was strange. She had decided not to ask questions. Questions she was sure would only bring painful answers. For now, she was satisfied with gaining a little bit of strength. The dreams remained and the tears every morning. Try as she might, she could never see anything more.

She spent her afternoons painting in the fields near their home. Today, instead of the flowers she normally drew, she decided to recount the mystery in her dreams. As soon as she took her first stroke, a piercing green eye struck in her head. Her breathing slowed as she dropped her brush. A single tear fell from her eyes. She wiped it and tried her best to imagine the scenes she saw so frequently in her dreams again.

Picking up her brush, the wind blew and her mind flew to the piercing green eyes once more. It made her feel warm inside. The _first_ warmth she’d felt in weeks. The kind of warmth she used to feel for her family. She began painting despite not having a clear picture of what she wanted to portray. Soon, an image started forming. As if her magic was taking over, she drew complicated strokes. Finally, she finished off the image that formed with the piercing green eyes.

She looked at the work she had accomplished. She had no idea who or what she painted. A man was the fruit of her labor. A man with piercing green eyes.

 _Why are you in my dreams,_ she thought as her hands ran through the eyes that she had painted as if to recognize them.

“Who are you?” she finally shouted into the empty fields.

No one answered.

None, except the wind.

And the wind said, _I’m sorry, Fleur._

======================================================================

Harry froze. He saw Fleur break down into a sob, after bellowing her question in frustration. He desperately wanted to run to her side. He had been at the other side of the country, pursuing the elusive Marcus in his attempt to keep Fleur safe.

Despite being far away from her, her tears would almost always summon him at once. Every time her tears fell, his magic caused him to apparate wherever she was. He did his best to remain hidden throughout all those times. She didn’t remember him. She had no idea who he was. He had altered every single scene and memory of him in her mind because he had fallen in love with her despite warning her not to fall in love herself. Before anything or anyone could hurt her, should their relationship mean anything, he wanted to leave it at that. It would only pain her. It would only pain them both. He wanted her to grow old with someone that would not always be followed by the cycle of life and death. It pained him to see her like this. He watched as she trashed her easel and canvas as she cried relentlessly in the fields.

He was drawn to her. He wanted nothing more than to walk towards her and hold her. But he knew, deep down, that whatever she had thought she felt for him was because she wanted to fix him. She wanted to save him. He didn’t need saving. He chose to walk down this path so that no one would remember him. They shouldn’t. They wouldn’t need to celebrate his life as his will go on for all time. He didn’t need saving. He needed to save her from him.

Despite this, a lullaby resonated in his head. The lullabies that she sang and hummed through their long nights together were beckoning him towards her. She said it was the song her grandmother sang when she was a child. It calmed him. It gave him courage and warmth while weathering the constant storm he tried so hard to hide from her from within. He fought hard and strong to halt his movements towards her.

His heart grew heavy for every second he spent, merely a few meters from her. He was right there. He could almost reach her. He could almost feel himself alive from just being in her presence. He could feel his heart beating slower at every second that he heard her nearly quiet sobs now. He started walking further away to mask the noise of his apparition. He took one last look at her and whispered, with tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Fleur. _I’m sorry_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I will continue it.


End file.
